This is real
by WordsAreASacredThing
Summary: This is a story, a story about a 10 year old boy who is stuck and he needs your help. He's begging. He's trapped. He can't get out. This is the story of Dean Winchester and this is happening now. This is the story of a terrified son and a harsh father. This is the story of a brave big brother. This is a story. All stories must be read.
1. The begining

John Winchester, father of two young boys and hunter of all that is supernatural dragged his eldest child to the field not far out of town. Dean, the young child, tried to run to keep up with his fathers long strides. They had left the youngest son in the car back a few hundreds metres at the passing bay as 6 was a little to young to be learning the trick that Dean would be learning today. Growing up in the way he had, at the meagre age of 10, Dean was able to hunt and kill all sorts of weird and scary creatures ranging from shape shifters to Demons but he had never attempted something like this, he didn't even know what his father wanted him to learn but he was terrified. It was hard not to be scared of the Winchester father, he was an intense man.

He hadn't had what you would call a normal childhood, in fact he had spent most of his first years learning to fight and being generally beaten up himself, battered and bruised as he learnt how to survive in the tough world his father had thrown him in to. Well, the truth be told his actual first years had been spent with his Mom and Dad in a quiet little house doing ordinary family things, having the crust cut off his bread and wearing cute little childrens T-shirts his mother bought him but- but one evening all that had changed. However, that's another tale of woe and sorrow and it is not our focus for today. That happened years ago, this is happening now. This story is one of the important ones. This is the story of a young boy who suffered a terrifying ordeal at the hands of his father, his father who thought he was protecting him, who did everything he could to prepare him for a tough old world, a world his son really shouldn't have been in in the first place.


	2. Coldness in a fathers heart

John dragged his son in through the middle of the field to the edge of a huge hole, 5 ft deep and 7ft long, dug in to the ground at the bottom of which was a small wooden box. Dean stared down at the crater, his small form beginning to shake in terror. What did his had have planned for him? What was he going to do?

The Winchester father looked coldly down at his son. Everything he did was out of love, but that love was buried under years of grief, years of anger, so much so that it was sometimes hard to distinguish if he was trying to protect his sons or trying to hurt them.

"Get in." His voice came out gruff and hard. There was no pleasantry's, no fineness in the tone he used with his kids. He did not care for that. They would do as he said, when he said and that was the way it was. His son began to back away, pulling against his fathers arm to let him go. He begged and begged to be spared, terrified that he had done wrong, scared that his father wanted him to die. The older man gripped his sons arm tight and would not let go. He growled "I said get in the hole." and dragged the small boy to the very edge.

"Get in or I will push you in"

Dripping in sweat and shaking with dread, the slim child sat down on the edge of the hole and began to lower himself in. At the last moment he changed his mind and tried to scramble out, gripping and dragging at the dirt. His father leaned down and gave a rough shove, sending the kid skidding down the steep, muddy walls and in the box at the bottom.

"Dean, lie down."

Big green eyes stared up at him from the bottom of the hole, brimming with tears. He hated himself. How could he do this to his own child? How could he be so cruel? A small voice whispered inside his head.

"It's for protection. You must protected them. You must protect him."

Yes, that's right. He had to prepare his children so they would always stay safe, so that nothing would hurt them. It might be hard, it might be tough but he couldn't let something hurt them.

"I said lie down. You'll be okay."


	3. If you were

If you were looking upon the scene from above you would see a man, a rough, dirty looking man standing over a grave, a deep hole in which a tiny figure stooped and laid down. If you were looking from Deans view you would see towering walls of dirt and mud and fear, You would see the bluest sky that offered freedom and safety and you would see your father staring down at you with cold dark clouded eyes, eyes that had been to hell and back, eyes that offered no comfort or support. Eyes that you would one day see staring up at you harsh and dead on the floor, eyes that one day you would wish you could see again, no matter how much fear they brought you, eyes that had saved you and your brother from the house that fatal night. Of course, at the time you wouldn't be thinking this. You'd be thinking about how horrible your dad is, how you were going to get out alive, how if you do die you'll be leaving your baby brother with this monster, to go through the same treatment and pain as you had before. You have to get out of this alive, you have to protect him. He's your little brother. But it's not you in the hole. It's a ten year old boy wearing a shirt two sizes too big and jeans that fall down if he doesn't wear a belt. It's a ten year old boy who saw his mother die. It's a ten year old boy with bruisers covering his body from fights past and a cut across his chest where he got a little to close to a monster. It's a ten year old boy who doesn't know what to do.


	4. The lid

"Okay boy, I'm going to put the lid on. I'm going to fill this up and you have 2 hours to get out. If you're not out by then I'm going to leave."

Of course John wouldn't leave. He wouldn't leave his first born son, his precious son to rot in an early grave. It was just meant as an encouragement. Forceful encouragement. He loved his son dearly, despite everything he made him go through, he could never ever leave him but the boy didn't know that. John Winchester picked up the long wooden lid of the box and dropped it down across the box, muffling his sons shouts for help from within. Shovel after shovel he filled the whole full of dirt and worms and whatever else was in the pile when he threw it back in. His child's screams grew fainter and fainter with every load. Bile rose in his throat but he pushed it down. When the grave was returned to its ground-level height John turned and walked back to his car, a beautiful Chevrolet Impala and to his youngest son. He would return soon and dig Dean back out, but first his son had to be given the chance to get out. A chance to prove himself. Not long. Just long enough.


	5. Trapped

Imagine being trapped.

Stuck.

Tight

Deep below ground.

Suffocating.

Being strangled by fear.

It's dark.

Pitch black.

And It is so cold.

Freezing.

You're stuck in a box.

A small box.

The sides are tight on your arms.

The sides are tight on your legs.

All you can smell is sick.

And urine.

The stench is putrid.

There is no light.

Just dark.

The only sound is your own heart.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Pounding on your ribcage.

It hurts.

You're scared.

Terrified.

Your father left you.

You're all alone.

No one else.

Just you.

Alone.

Stuck.

Trapped.

Alone.

Scared.

Upset.

Alone.

Like I said. You're not going through this. Dean Winchester is. He's living this. This is not a fictional story of fear and pain. This is a real story of fear and pain. This is the truth. This is a life. This is real.


	6. Endings

Sometimes these real life stories end with tears, with pain and suffering. At the end of the day we all die. We all know people who die and we all live with this fact until we are dead. It's the way the world works, you might not like it, not many do, but it works. It's twisted and dark and yes, more often than not it ends in sadness rather than happiness but it does work. Every story ends differently. Every life ends differently. It's funny though, every life starts differently, every life ends differently, every life exists differently yet they all are worth the same amount. They are all priceless. When a life ends it's another story gone. Another tale that has been told. Another ending. Every story is a life, even if it's not real. Every ending happens, in the real world or not. Not all stories end in death though, not every tale ends in suffering. Sometimes we finish writing before the story is up, leaving the sad bits hidden so we don't have to find out the rest. So we don't have to know all the pain, all the bad that comes. Sometimes we make a different ending. Sometimes we change the ending. Sometimes we write the ending before it happens. Sometimes we read the end before it's the actual end. Sometimes we carry on reading and writing a long time after the end.

Every ending is different.

Who knows how this tale will end?

I do.

I'm writing it as it happens. I can see what is going to happen.

You don't. You can't.

I could leave you to imagine the story. Imagine the ending. Maybe that would be kinder. I don't know. What I do know is not knowing if this poor child survived would drive me insane. I would be desperate. I would be scared. I am desperate. I am scared. I know the ending.

-**To Be Continued...**-


End file.
